


Catalyst

by Janamelie



Series: The Promised Land [2]
Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Praise Kink, Red Dwarf: The Promised Land, The second pairing is background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janamelie/pseuds/Janamelie
Summary: The final confrontation with the Ferals plays out differently and the crew are taken to the Cat ship for interrogation.  Rimmer ends up in the same predicament as Sol in the pre-credits sequence.The second of a series of one-shots inspired by "TPL".
Relationships: Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer, Rodon (Red Dwarf) / Count Ludo (Red Dwarf)
Series: The Promised Land [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747975
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21





	Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Softlightpen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softlightpen/gifts), [horselizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/gifts).



Rimmer slipped into the mid-section, silently willing the Clerics not to awaken. His hopes were dashed as the male one - Sol, was it? - opened an eye and then sat up, beaming.

“We excitedly await the next miracle from our Holy Poppadom. You must have seen so many of them! How long have you followed him?”

“I…” Rimmer looked into the feline’s face and decided that personality-wise, he would have been more suited to being a canine. The stupid blind devotion certainly fitted.

“A long time,” he fudged.

Sol nodded eagerly. “I always knew he would protect us! And just in the nick of time. The Ferals are…” He shuddered. “Depraved and sadistic creatures. Rodon was about to torture me. I barely escaped.”

“Torture you?” Rimmer’s curiosity got the better of him. “How exactly?”

The feline gesticulated wildly. “He had me in irons, manacled to a wooden chair with straps, and he was threatening me with his claws!”

Rimmer raised an eyebrow. “What, real cat claws? I thought you’d evolved beyond that.”

“We have. The Ferals use artificial claws as weapons. Didn’t you see?”

Rimmer remembered the Feral guard who had pointed a gun at his back. Had she had claws? “Oh yes,” he blustered. “I was rather more concerned about their guns. Bullets travel further and faster.”

“True,” Sol allowed. “Anyway, there I was, chained up and completely helpless as he hissed in my ear. If that Count Ludo hadn’t come in and distracted him, I wouldn’t be here now! That must have been another Cloister miracle!”

“Count Ludo?” Rimmer queried, deciding playing along was easier and quicker.

“Rodon’s Royal Aide.” Sol grimaced. “Rumour has it that’s not all he is. I’ve heard stories through the Cat grapevine…”

“Holly, why didn’t you tell us the Ferals were onboard? Were they holding you hostage?”

“No, I just forgot.”

Rimmer’s withering reply died on his lips as the Feral King approached them, looking every bit as intimidating as Sol had claimed.

“Where is the real Anubis Stone? We know this one is a fake.” He gestured dismissively at the one his Aide was holding as though it might bite him.

“We don’t know.” Lister shot firm glances at the Clerics before they could disagree.

“But you’re Cloister. You know everything.”

“That … doesn’t mean I’ll share it. Such knowledge is not for everyone.”

Rodon growled. “Bring them all back to the ship. Let’s see if Cloister’s disciples remain loyal under torture.”

“But I keep telling you, I’m not one of his disciples!”

Rimmer’s protests continued to be ignored as Feral guards shepherded him and Kryten along a dark corridor. Apparently they were to be split up for tactical purposes, as Lister and Cat had been pushed into one room and the Clerics into another.

As they entered a better lit area, he looked around at gleaming gold decor and more fashionable looking Cats than the frankly almost Dickensian crowds of ragamuffins he’d seen so far. Clearly they were approaching the royal quarters. Which must mean that Rodon himself was about to...

“Hey!” He struggled in vain as a guard unplugged him from Kryten. “You can’t do that! I only have a few minutes of run-time left!”

“I’m sure our King will be able to adapt,” the guard smirked.

“Don’t tell them anything, sir!” Kryten yelled as he was yanked away.

“I don’t **know** anything, you-” Rimmer gave up as the guards’ weapons were once again jabbed into his back. Just how badly did that stupid bogbot need a service?

The Feral King was lounging on his throne, his elaborately coiffured Aide hovering attentively.

“Well, this should be interesting. I’ve never had the pleasure of … **questioning** a hologram before.”

Rimmer looked around in horror at the tall wooden chair with straps, chains and hooks, the open flame lamp burners and the lethal looking metal claws now attached to Rodon’s otherwise human-looking fingers. All just as Sol had so vividly described.

The immediate threat of the orange wires trailing uselessly behind him overcame his rising fear. “I … think you should know that if someone doesn’t plug me into an electrical socket right now, my light bee will give up the ghost entirely.”

Rodon’s eyes widened. He gestured impatiently to the guards around Rimmer. “Plug him in. I’m not missing out on this.”

A commotion ensued as the guards hurriedly located a socket, plugged Rimmer in and then adjusted the extension leads so that he could be manacled to the royal restraints.

“That’s better.” Rodon dismissed the guards with a wave.

“Would you like me to leave too, my King?” Rimmer thought he detected a trace of something he couldn’t quite define in the advisor’s query. Something other than bootlicking, although there was plenty of that too.

“Not yet.” The Feral King rose and moved slowly towards Rimmer, who gulped as the figure loomed into his peripheral vision, coming to a halt directly behind him.

Whatever he’d been anticipating, it wasn’t the gentle question: “So why are you in low power mode? Surely Cloister could miracle you a new battery in the blink of an eye.”

“Ah, well you see … despite appearances, I am not actually one of Cloister’s disciples. In fact, I’m not religious at all.”

“Why are you travelling with him then?” Rodon moved as he spoke, until he was directly facing Rimmer. On his other side, the Aide - Count Ludo, had Sol called him? - rounded the chair and took up a position which afforded him a good view of proceedings.

Rimmer scrambled for a plausible answer as his brain turned to mush at the sight before him. What kind of King wore a kilt slashed way up the sides of both thighs **and** in the middle of his groinal area? Was he wearing anything beneath it? The mind boggled.

“Time’s up.” Rodon leaned in. “And I’m afraid I don’t believe you. You’re putting on an act.”

“My Alpha.” Both Rodon and Rimmer looked in surprise over at the Count. “If I might make a suggestion, perhaps we should bring in Cloister himself to witness this? If he truly is what his disciple believes, let him prove it. And if he is not, then you will be able to get what you want from this man easily.”

Rimmer detected an emphasis on the final word and bristled. Was his cowardice really **that** obvious, branded on his forehead like his H?

Or was the Count simply implying that Rodon was an expert at torture in order to break Rimmer down?

Rodon considered. “Yes. Quickly.”

Count Ludo did his level best to comply, but a giant cat flap and a floor-length robe do not make for a swift exit.

Rimmer would have smirked if he hadn’t been far too busy flinching as Rodon circled him like a … OK, like a cat. A particularly mean and predatory one.

“Look,” he babbled, “I swear, Your Majesty, I don’t know anything about the Anubis Stone whatsoever, let alone where it is! Only Cloister has that knowledge.”

The Feral King smiled cruelly, gold fangs glinting. “Then we’ll have to see what it takes to make him give it up, won’t we?”

Rimmer recoiled as Rodon took a step closer to him. The manacles bit into his wrists, halting his retreat. “Ow!”

Rodon shook his head, exuding scorn. “Ludo was right. You’ll be the easiest toy I’ve ever bothered to play with.”

“Then … maybe don’t bother?” Rimmer ventured desperately.

“He’s right, ya know.”

Rimmer gaped as that unmistakable Scouse voice dissipated the tension in the room. Rodon’s head whipped round to confront the newcomer. Whatever he saw apparently rendered him speechless.

“You two just aren’t compatible. He’s not into threats and stuff like that. Why bother when your boyfriend’s right here?”

As the Feral King moved, Rimmer saw what he had been blocking from his view. A pole which- A giant scratching post, he realised queasily.

But that was nothing compared to the sight of Count Ludo roped around it, looking like an aristocrat awaiting the guillotine. If said aristocrats had found the prospect of imminent death arousing.

“My Alpha,” he breathed tremulously.

Abruptly losing interest in Rimmer, Rodon turned away from him and prowled towards the Count.

Lister approached Rimmer, a smirk playing around the edges of his mouth. “Hi, Arn.”

“Lister, how did you… I mean…” Rimmer glanced nervously over to the Cats at the other end of the room, but they were utterly focussed on each other. He hastily averted his eyes.

“Never mind all that right now.” Lister pulled up a luxurious armchair and seated himself before Rimmer.

“You… what…” Rimmer’s protests melted away as he beheld Lister’s cocky smile and relaxed posture.

“You heard what I said to him. Here you are all nicely tied up and safely plugged in. May as well take the chance to give ya what ya like.”

“And what would that be?” Rimmer managed faintly, suddenly aware of a tingling in the lower area of his body which he **really** did not want to think about in the same room as two Feral Cats, even if they had miraculously forgotten he was there.

Settling back with one leg casually slung over the other, Lister grinned. “Praise, of course.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rimmer lied as his erection grew. The sight of Lister like **that** whilst he was like this was just too much.

“‘Course ya do. Remember that look you gave me when you turned back to Diamond Light? ‘Cos I smegging well do. If I hadn’t reminded ya about the bomb, you’d still be there now, basking.”

Rimmer flushed. “Anyone would be proud of that.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, you should be proud. You saved us all. See, you can still be a hero even without being Ace.”

“I thought you loved Ace?”

“Oh, he’s great.” Lister grinned widely. “But I like a bit of smeghead in me man. And that Mighty Light get-up was as good as his pilot duds. Better.”

“You really mean that?”

Nodding emphatically, Lister rose and stepped towards Rimmer. Dark eyes roamed playfully over his shackled body. “And it’s time to bring it back.” He withdrew something from his jacket pocket and held it out.

“The Anubis Stone?! But-”

“Shush.” Lister’s lips were suddenly on his, soothing his confusion, pressing deliciously against-

“Rimmer?”

Rimmer jolted awake as though he was falling off a cliff.

He was in bed, Lister beside him. “Rimmer?”

Rimmer tried to collect himself, but between the sleep fog clouding his brain and his painful hard-on, all he could come up with was a grunt.

“Good dream, was it?” Lister teased, eyes alight with mischief exactly as they had been in Rimmer’s dream, which really didn’t help.

Rimmer cleared his throat. “Ah yes, Listy. Most pleasant. We were-”

“I know. You were talking in your sleep. I heard it all.”

Rimmer turned red at the last word. “Listy, it was just a dream.”

“I know, but … you fancied Rodon?!”

“What? Of course not! It’s just - did you **see** that outfit of his? I couldn’t help but notice. He was practically flashing us.”

“Great. The bloke was trying to kill us and you’re stood there ogling his thighs.”

“I refuse to apologise for my sub-”

“I’m just yanking your chain, man. I guess he did have nice legs. Anyway, forget that. I knew you love being buttered up, but why didn’t you tell me you’d like to be tied up at the same time? We can do that if ya like, no problem. Those cables are still hangin’ around somewhere.”

“I don’t … oh alright, it’s just embarrassing. I’ve been Ace, for smeg’s sake. I’ve been Mighty Light. I’ve saved the lives of thousands of people.”

“And?”

“Heroes aren’t meant to enjoy being tied up and teased. They’re supposed to be the ones who **do** that. The ones leaving a trail of orgasms and broken hearts behind them.”

“Really?” Lister moved over until he was straddling Rimmer, who failed to suppress a moan as his thigh brushed Rimmer’s still aching cock.

“Guess that’s why you’ll never be a traditional hero.” He smiled, again just as he had in the dream. “And that’s what I love about you. Never change.”

**Author's Note:**

> The moment I saw the opening scene of "TPL" I was determined to find a way to incorporate it into a fic and the various bits and bobs floating around my brain for the past month finally coalesced into a somewhat coherent fic. I say "somewhat" because I was deliberately echoing that weird helpless, going round in circles feeling which is often a part of dreams.
> 
> Thank you to Prettyhardlight for letting me use her idea about the scratching post, Felineranger for posting a very inspirational Craig pic, Thisusernameisunique on Tumblr for putting the "praise kink" idea into my head and LordValeryMimes for the joke about how Lister could make Rimmer's dependence on the electrical wires more interesting if he so chose.
> 
> I hope I remembered everyone.


End file.
